


I don't need help (I just need you)

by Moorishflower



Series: Fifty AUs [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though Sam is tall, sometimes Gabriel still insists on grabbing things from the top shelf. Just to 'help her out.' For the prompt 'she doesn't need his help, damnit.' Genderswapped Sam Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't need help (I just need you)

The thing about Gabriel is that, for a guy who’s repeatedly tried to maim, kill, or otherwise inconvenience them, he’s awfully fucking helpful now that Sam has expressed the – very, _very_ tentative – desire to sleep with him. He’s the first one to volunteer to go to Egypt or South Africa (or somewhere else that’s equally as far away), if doing so means that he’ll be able to fetch something that Dean and Sam need for a ritual. If Dean expresses an abstract desire for pie or a BLT (which he tends to do when he’s bored, just to annoy Sam), a moment later Gabriel will be setting down a steaming cherry pie on the table, fresh from the best diner in whatever state they’re in. Sam is beginning to worry that Dean is going to get fat, and it’ll be pretty much her fault.

What’s worse, though, is when Gabriel starts trying to help _her_. Personally.

It’s little things at first: one day, Gabriel holds the door open for her while she’s got her arms full of grave dirt and cat’s claws and God only knows what else, because when Bobby asks her to make a supply run she doesn’t really question whatever’s on the list. She says something – some sort of absent ‘thank you’ – and Gabriel beams at her like she just told him he won the lottery.

It only gets worse from there. Doors mysteriously open for her, regardless of where Gabriel actually is in the house, and when she’s looking for ingredients – either for a spell or for food – more often than not she’ll turn around and they’ll be sitting right there on the counter. If she has even the slightest craving (she’s human, she’s not above it), moments later she’ll blink and whatever it is she wants will just be _there_ , and while she appreciates the Belgian chocolate and the fact that she apparently no longer has to do her own laundry, it also sort of pisses her off. She’s a grown woman, goddamnit, and she’s been making her own food and doing her own laundry and hunting her own ghosts since she was old enough to keep a good grip on a gun, and she doesn’t need some asshole archangel trying to make her life easier just because he wants to fuck her.

The straw that breaks the camel’s back is the day that Gabriel offers to open a jar of olives for her.

“You _asshole_ ,” she says, and Gabriel’s expression is almost enough to startle her out of her own anger, a combination of alarm and such doe-eyed innocence that it would put Bambi to shame. “I don’t need your help!”

“I was just asking if…”

“What you were _asking_ is if the _little woman_ needed help opening a fucking jar.” Never mind that Sam would never be mistaken for ‘little,’ not by anyone. She’s tall and she’s got broad shoulders and big hips, and there’s nothing about her that’s small. Gabriel, though, is staring at her like she’s making no sense whatsoever.

“ _What_?” he finally goes with, and Sam viciously hammers the jar of olives down on the counter. She’s lucky it doesn’t break, but it startles Gabriel enough to give her the upper hand. Despite her size, she’s always been faster than Dean, and she uses that speed now to shove Gabriel up against the pantry door, knowing that he’s far stronger than her, far faster, but relishing the heft of him and the give of his skin anyways. She’s close enough that she can see the flutter of his vessel’s pulse, the dark slash of his eyelashes. His eyes are almost gold in this dim light.

“I am _not_ some giggling virgin sacrifice who needs your help,” she snarls. She fits her thigh between Gabriel’s knees, forcing him to stand with his legs spread, and he just…he just _takes_ it, and God, she’s so fucking horny. It’s been ages, and Gabriel is probably the closest thing to a long-term relationship she’s had in years, and…She swallows. “You get that? I’ve been taking care of myself _and_ my brother for years. I don’t need you to do my laundry, or open jars for me, or _any_ of that.”

“A real modern woman,” Gabriel says, mouth curling in a smile.

Sam leans down and kisses him until any thought of smiling or joking is completely wiped from his mind.


End file.
